


Soap Operas And Soap Suds

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Episode: s02e02 In the Shadow of Two Gunmen Part II, F/M, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-03
Updated: 2004-02-03
Packaged: 2019-05-30 22:05:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15105782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Josh is bored in his hospital room, and Donna prepares his apartment for when he comes home.





	1. Soap Operas And Soap Suds

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

Hi all! I'm new here and just wanted to say that I've been enjoying everyone's stories. I haven't done a lot of fanfic, but for some reason I was inspired today. I think it might have something to do with the fact that I am procrastinating about doing work. Anyway, on with the show...

Disclaimer: Alas, they are not mine. Any recognizable characters belong to Aaron Sorkin et. al. 

Spoilers: Up through In the Shadow of Two Gunmen 

Rating: Oh, it's pretty innocuous. I guess I'd give it a PG-13 for slight innuendo. 

Summary: Josh is bored in his hospital room, and Donna prepares his apartment for when he comes home. 

I apologize for any inconsistencies or if the characters are acting, well, out-of-character. :) I'm just having a little fun with them.

 

Soap Operas and Soap Suds

Donna Moss surveyed the disaster scene that was Josh Lyman's apartment with an expression of resignation. His office somehow managed to sink into chaos if she happened to be absent for a few hours, so it could only be expected that his apartment (not being fortunate enough to benefit from her influence) existed in the typical state of a bachelor pad: rampant disorder.

"Joshua, Joshua, Joshua," she sighed, "What would you do without me?"

Although it had been empty only a few days, the apartment already had an atmosphere of disuse. Donna watched the dust motes dance in the ray of sunlight that managed to slip through the closed curtains and shivered. There was a staleness to the air, a quality that seemed to say that the occupant was missing. Abruptly she pulled the curtains and opened the window, letting in a crisp fresh breeze, and took a deep breath. It was hard to believe that it had been a matter of days. Only about a week ago that some heartless bastards had taken shots at members of the Bartlet administration. Taken shots at people she cared about.

Now Josh was in the hospital recuperating from his gunshot wound. He was out of the woods, the doctors had said, and Donna knew intellectually that she shouldn't worry. But that part of her which didn't listen to reason, which kept flashing back to the image of him on the table in the operating room, which woke her up in the middle of the night with the sound of doctors telling her, "We're sorry, Ms. Moss, but we did everything within our capabilities…" echoing in her ears, that part seemed to take over her capacity to form rational thought at odd moments in the day: at work as she grabbed some papers off of his desk, at home while she was opening a can to feed her roommate's cats, at the grocery store in the middle of the produce section.

And when that irrationality of her heart or soul trounced her reason, it was all she could do not to drop everything and rush to the hospital to assure herself of the actuality of Josh being alive: to brush a light touch across his hair, to lay a palm against his cheek as he slept, to feel his pulse beating strong beneath her fingers as she held his hand. But she was afraid that she was hovering too much. Yesterday Josh had commented on the fact that she seemed to be by his bedside whenever he happened to be awake. And it wasn't in a grateful, "Donna, you're wonderful to care so much," tone of voice, but more like a "Don't you have anything better to do than yap at me," tone. Of course, Josh had been getting increasingly frustrated at being confined to a hospital bed and his current attitude was one of general irritability, but still…

So when an attack of Josh anxiety hit Donna in the middle of reading the Saturday newspaper and eating a blueberry muffin, she had overcome the urge to rush to his hospital bed, and instead threw on her grubbiest pair of sweats, packed a few cleaning supplies into her car, grabbed the keys from the box of his belongings that she had taken from the hospital, and drove over to his apartment. Josh would be home in a few days, and Donna wanted to make sure that the apartment was ready.

Starting with the kitchen, which Josh had apparently not cleaned up the morning of the shooting, Donna pulled her long hair into a ponytail and attacked the dishes that were still sitting in the sink, filling it with hot water and dish soap.

*****

Josh Lyman was bored beyond belief.

He had spent the day being rude to the various nurses and medical personnel who had been in and out of his room. To a mind such as his, accustomed to multi-tasking, and dealing with major concerns of the country, it was torture to be forced to be idle. He was tied to his hospital bed by IV tubes and concerned nurses as effectively as if he had been in iron chains and guarded by enemy soldiers.

It didn't help matters that the hospital staff met all of his grumbling with sunny smiles and nods of understanding. Josh supposed that they often dealt with grumpy patients and had learned to ignore them, but he suspected the nurses of secretly holding a grudge since they had turned on the television and left it on the soap opera channel. "Now, Mr. Lyman," a matronly nurse had said as she straightened the sheets around him, "I think you could use a distraction."

"You know what would be a distraction," he had replied, "is if I could get my hands on some of the work that I should be doing. Work, I might add, which is of national importance."

The nurse had chuckled as if he had made a joke and bustled on out of the room.

His suspicions of retaliation on their part were strengthened by the fact that for some mysterious reason his remote control was not working, and after all of the fussing that had occurred earlier, suddenly he had been left completely alone. He knew that he could call someone in to turn off the television or at least change the channel, but that streak of Lyman stubbornness didn't want to give them the satisfaction.

So he was now being subjected to unrealistic scenes of melodrama and sappy romance, and he had no one to complain to.

Josh paused a moment. No, it wasn't just that he had no one to complain to. He didn't have Donna to complain to. After days of waking up to find Donna in the chair beside his bed, she had apparently decided not to visit him today, and Josh had to admit it: he missed her.

He missed that awareness of her fingers wrapped around his hand as he slowly surfaced into consciousness, the sensation of the feather- light touches to his face that she would steal when she thought he was still asleep. He even missed her rambling monologues as he ate his tasteless meals or the nurses dropped in to administer shots or adjust his bed.

What made things worse was the sense that he knew why she wasn't there. He had snapped at her yesterday, made a sarcastic remark about her always being there. He had quickly regretted it, but she hadn't acted hurt, just smiled and told him she had to go but would talk to him later. What could he say now? "Sorry, Donna, about the thing yesterday, which you might or might not have felt was incredibly rude of me and might be the reason why you aren't here now, but I was in a lot of pain yesterday and wanted more than anything to yell at someone." Or maybe he should just tell her, "Sorry, I was just being my usual tactless self and please come back because I want to hear your voice even if you do refuse to talk about work under orders from the doctors and Leo."

Josh eyed the telephone on his bedside table and inwardly groaned. It had only been about fourteen hours since he had basically told Donna that he didn't want her to visit, and now he was contemplating nagging her into coming by. The physical pain from his wound ("Pain is good," a prim little granny of a nurse had informed him a few days ago, "It's your body's way of telling you that you're alive." "I can think of a much nicer way my body could tell me that," Josh had muttered back, to the shock of the nurse. She left the room with an expression of disapproval on her face. Donna had laughed and rolled her eyes, but just said, "Josh," in that way she had, meaning, "Stop aggravating the hospital staff, Josh.") and the intolerable boredom of the white walls of his room were magnified a hundred-fold by her absence. "I am addicted to Donna Moss," he thought with a snort, "Forget the painkillers, Nurse, just give me a shot of Donnatella." His brow wrinkled, and he shook his head in half-mirth, half-confusion. Okay, well, that was a random thought. Wouldn't she just love to hear him say that though? He could picture her. Her blue eyes would shine with amusement. "Can't get along without me, now, can you?" she would say, playfully poking his arm.

"Oh, fine," he said aloud, swallowing his not inconsiderable pride. Picking up the receiver he dialed the number from memory.

*****

Donna had her yellow rubber gloves on, and was in the process of scrubbing out Josh's bathtub. She was precariously balanced with one hip on the edge of the tub and her left hand braced against the other side as she leaned down. Her back was aching, and she looked longingly through the door at Josh's bed. Nothing appealed to her more than the prospect of taking off her gloves, crawling under the covers and burying her face in his pillow.

But she still wanted to vacuum the apartment, still had to gather up the clothes strewn over floor and furniture, organize the piles of paper and files scattered throughout the room, and change the sheets on the bed.

The sudden sound of the phone ringing almost made her fall. She eyed the phone on the bedside table warily. Should she answer it? It could be some friend or relative, wanting to know how Josh was doing. No, she decided, probably best to let the machine get it. Those who were close to Josh already knew the number for his hospital room, and if it was someone she didn't know, say a female acquaintance, it might be a little awkward explaining what she was doing in his apartment.

After four rings, the phone fell silent, and Donna assumed that the machine in the kitchen had picked up. She turned back to resume scrubbing, when the phone started ringing again. Her forehead creased in slight annoyance as she glanced at the phone again. No one knew she was there, so it must have been either a coincidence or some annoying person.

Really annoying person, she mentally revised after the third hang up and re-call. "I can be just as stubborn as whoever you are," she said to the empty apartment, studiously ignoring the shrill ringing of the phone.

"Ha," she shouted, triumphantly, when the phone fell silent after approximately a dozen calls. She returned to her cleaning, and was once again balancing on the tub when the ringing resumed, causing her to fall with an undignified, "Oof," into the soapy tub.

She hoisted herself out and glared at the phone. Okay, this was a capacity to annoy beyond the normal scope, and that could mean only one thing: it must be Josh. She pulled off her gloves, throwing them on the floor, and stalked into the other room.

"What do you want, Josh?"

"No, `How are you doing, Josh,' `Are you still in pain, Josh,' or `Hey, Josh, I've decided to invade your apartment in your absence, and aren't you clever for figuring out I'm here'?"

"Are you in pain?" she asked, concern winning out over aggravation.

There was a hesitation. "No."

"Josh."

"No more than usual. Or normal, so the medical personnel tell me, although how they know the level of pain I'm feeling is something of a mystery to me."

Donna could hear a smile in his voice and let out the breath she had been holding. "Okay, so how did you know I was here? Or should I assume that you enjoy spending your free time calling your own apartment?"

"Well, it's not like I have anything better to do since some people won't bring me any material from work." There was a slightly accusatory tone in his voice.

She grinned. "Doctor's orders, Joshua. Not to mention the Chief of Staff and President of the United States. You need rest, not work."

"Yeah, yeah."

"So?"

"So I called your apartment and your roommate said you had left a few hours ago with cleaning supplies, and I concluded that either you had taken on a second job of charwoman, which is not entirely inconceivable since, as you often point out, your salary is, and I quote, 'pitifully insignificant,' or you were being the amazingly considerate person you always are and had decided to tackle the Herculean task of cleaning my place."

Donna blushed at the compliment hidden in the middle of his reply. "Yes, well," she said, clearing her throat, "Since I don't happen to have a river handy to diverge through your apartment, maybe you should let me get back to cleaning."

"Don't hang up," he said quickly.

"There's still a lot to do, Josh." But she didn't make any move to replace the phone in its cradle.

"You can keep cleaning, just talk to me while you do it."

She was torn between the desire to laugh and the desire to be mad. "It's a little hard cleaning with only one hand."

"Hey, no problem," he said, jauntily, "Go to my desk."

"Why?"

"Oh, for the day when you will do something without asking questions."

"You're injured, I'll humor you for now." Donna walked over to the desk. "Okay, so what am I looking for?"

"Open the top right hand drawer."

She opened it and stared blankly at the contents. "A headset?"

"Yeah. No hands. You can still clean."

There was silence on her end for a second. "You are a big nerd, Joshua Lyman."

"Because I have a headset?"

"Because you have a headset."

"Many people have headsets, Donnatella."

"Many people have headsets at work. You have one at home. A place of non-work. A place where you should be able to relax and talk to a friend without needing a headset."

"But think about all the work that people could get done if they did more when they were talking with friends than just holding the phone," he said. "And I am not a nerd."

He sounded a little ruffled. "Okay," she placated him.

"So will you talk to me?"

The wistful note in his words gave her pause.

"Please?"

How could she say no? "All right," she said, with a noisy sigh, plugging in the headset and putting it on.

  

  


	2. Soap Operas And Soap Suds 2

Thanks for the encouragement. :) There actually is a point to this, other than meaningless conversation, even though it might not seem like it yet. Bear with me, and I think I might finish it fairly soon. :)

Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to Aaron Sorkin, John Wells Productions, Warner Bros., et. al. I am borrowing them for non- profit, recreational purposes and will return them in pretty much the same condition as I found them. I think Sunset Beach belongs to Aaron Spelling and Port Charles belongs to Wendy Riche. A World Apart is fictional. 

Rating: PG-13 (one instance of semi-bad language) 

Summary: Continues from part 1. Josh and Donna are discussing soap operas. 

Archive: Anywhere, just let me know. 

Feedback: Much appreciated. :)

 

Soap Operas and Soap Suds (2/?)

Josh was positively giddy. Which was rather surprising since he had spent the first half of the day in an abysmally bad mood. The reason was simple: not only had Donna voluntarily decided to do the incredibly thoughtful task of cleaning his apartment (which probably meant that she wasn't angry), but she had also agreed to talk to him.

"Does this mean you'll be bringing me coffee from now on?"

"Ha. Don't bet on it."

He smiled, shifting in his bed so he could hold the phone more comfortably. "What are you doing right now?"

"Did we not just have an entire discussion on how I could use your nerdy headset and continue cleaning at the same time?"

"Yes, but what specifically are you doing."

"Why do you want to know?"

Once again with the questions. "Jeez, Donna, it's not like I asked what you were wearing."

"If you really wanted to know, I'm wearing old sweats."

Josh glanced down at his own attire. "Beats a hospital gown that doesn't close at the back. It's not enough that I'm confined to this hospital room; they have to humiliate me as well."

Donna said something unintelligible that sounded like it included "females" and "ass," but he couldn't be sure.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing."

"So what are you doing," he pestered her again.

There was another belabored sigh. "I'm trying to organize the clutter on your bathroom counter before I start washing it. Honestly, Josh, I never knew men needed so many cosmetics."

"Hey, those are not cosmetics. And the, uh, lotion was a gift. I'm told that it keeps the skin smooth." He added defensively, "And for your information, many women find it attractive."

"Cosmetics, Josh. Substances applied to make one beautiful."

There was a slight sound on the other end of the line. Josh strained his ears. "What are you doing now?"

"Hmm?" Donna sounded distracted.

"I said-"

"Do you have anything else to talk about other than my every single move in cleaning your hideously disorganized apartment?"

"I was only asking." Josh stopped. Donna had seemed a little defensive with that last question. He wracked his brain for what she could be doing. What did he have on his counter? "Hey, did you just smell my cologne?"

Silence.

A wide grin spread across his face. "Because, you know, it's okay with me if you did."

"Wouldn't you just like to know," she tartly replied. "What are you doing anyway? It sounds like there are people in your room."

"It's the television." He glanced morosely up at the screen, on which two women were screaming at each other. "They're making me watch soap operas."

*****

The petulance in his voice made Donna smile as she recapped the bottle of his cologne and placed it on the floor so she could clean the counter. She filled the sink with soapy water and submerged the sponge.

"Did you know that there is a channel entirely devoted to soap operas, Donna?"

"I did know that, Josh."

"Soap operas twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week."

"I know."

"I mean, they have a channel that was created for no other purpose than to show soap operas."

"I get the picture, Josh."

"Why?"

"Why do I-"

"Why is there a need for a soap opera channel?" he interrupted.

She considered before offering, "There's a channel devoted entirely to the weather."

"Yes, but-"

"And one called the History Channel, which I'm pretty sure doesn't talk about anything other than history."

"Donna."

"I'm just saying."

"The Weather Channel is useful. The History Channel is educational."

"Many people happen to like soap operas."

"I'm making a point here, Donna."

"And I'm sure it's a very good point," she said soothingly.

"What possible redeeming quality can there be in showing old reruns of soap operas all day?"

"Oh, I don't know. They can be fairly entertaining sometimes."

There was a pause as Donna finished wiping down the mirror.

"Don't tell me. You watch soaps."

Donna replaced the bottles and containers on his counter, neatly arranged in a row. "I don't have time these days, Josh. But I did watch some in high school and college. Which one are you watching right now?"

*****

Josh checked the screen. The two women were gone, and now there was a pair of teenagers making out underneath an extremely fake looking tree.

"Um, I think it was something like Sunset Port."

"Well there was a show called Sunset Beach, and there is one named Port Charles."

"Yeah, something like that." He said dismissively. "They're all the same, Donna. They blur together."

"They blur."

"Yes. I've watched five episodes today and there must have been about three storylines, tops, and they're all recycled. They even use the same names!"

A burst of static drowned out Donna's reply. Josh held the receiver away from his ear as whirring and more static emitted from the earpiece.

"Donna?"

"Donna!"

A male nurse, who looked like he could be a football player, peeked around the door to see what the yelling was about. Josh waved him off impatiently.

"What?" Thankfully the noise had subsided, and Donna's voice came through clearly.

"What's the racket?"

"I'm vacuuming."

"Oh. Do you think you could leave that for later?"

"Need I remind you that I am doing you a favor by cleaning up your mess?"

"And I am exceedingly grateful. But I'd love it even more if you'd talk to me."

"Well, when you put it that way." It sounded like she was smiling.

"Maybe you could wash the floors. That doesn't make any noise."

A moment of silence greeted this remark. "You can be a real putz sometimes, you know that?" The smile was definitely gone.

"Kidding, Donna. I'm just kidding."

"Funny. For your information, I already washed the floors. I suppose I could straighten your room. If that's all right with your highness."

Josh thought it would be wise to hold his tongue.

*****

Donna looked at the piece of paper in her hand. Did the man never throw anything away? Tucked in between the pages of the book on his nightstand, she recognized a memo that she had written him months ago about some trivial matter long ago resolved. As if any reasonable person would think she was writing about banana bars!

"Now that would never happen." Josh's incredulous outburst interrupted her contemplation of the idiosyncrasies with which some people were afflicted.

"What would never happen?" Donna replaced the paper in the book and returned it to the nightstand.

"This supermodel with the long hair and ridiculously large breasts would never be a cardiac surgeon."

She paused in what she was doing, an eyebrow raised. "Are you saying that attractive women can't be intelligent too?"

"Uh, no." Smart man. He obviously recognized that he had wandered into dangerous waters. "How could I possibly think that when I am surrounded at work by intelligent attractive women?" His voice was syrupy sweet.

Donna shook her head, the corners of her lips curving up despite herself. That was a quick save, Josh. "Then?"

"I'm just saying, if that woman leaned over her patients, they would, in all likelihood, suffer another heart attack. And from personal experience, I know that scrubs are not that low-cut."

"Have you been trying to ogle the female doctors, Josh?"

"Ogle?"

"Yes."

"Now there's a word I haven't heard in conversation recently."

"Well?"

"No. I am merely submitting this observation as another example of how grossly inaccurate these soap operas are."

"They're not meant to be accurate, Josh. That's the point. It's escapism. Entertainment."

"If I must be subjected to hours upon hours of this drivel, I want it to be somewhat believable."

"You're whining, Josh."

"Hey, what's with the insults? First I'm a nerd, then I'm a putz, and now I'm a whiner?"

"I call `em like I see `em, baby," she sang out gaily as she pulled the sheets off of the bed.

"And I'm a whiner. Whatever happened to the sweet, supportive, demure assistant I once had?"

"I don't know. Did you fire her and then hire me? Your capable, self-sacrificing, invaluable assistant?"

"As I was saying," he loudly returned to his subject, "there is no way in which these storylines or characterizations are remotely plausible."

"For example?"

"Okay, take this detective and lawyer on this one show."

"Lots of lawyers on lots of soaps, Joshua. For some odd reason soaps are under the mistaken impression that people with law degrees are intriguing."

"Funny, there, Donnatella."

"So which show is it?"

"The one with the detective and the lawyer."

She rolled her eyes. "Do you listen to me at all?"

"The one with the female detective and male lawyer."

"And that narrows it down, like, not at all."

"It had some absurd title."

"Again, Josh, we're looking for narrowing."

Donna took advantage of a lull in the conversation, as Josh tried to remember the name of the show, to finish tucking in the corners of the bedspread as she sprawled across the bed's surface.

"A World Apart!" he declared triumphantly.

"A World Apart." She rolled over onto her back, deciding to steal a moment of rest.

"Yes."

"A female detective and male lawyer on A World Apart. That would be Jordan and Blaine."

"Yes! You watched the show."

"It's one of the shows I watched in school, yes."

"Well, the characters are completely unrealistic. And by the way, I've gotta tell you, those unisex names don't increase their credibility."

"What exactly is so unbelievable about these particular characters?"

"For one thing, they banter way too much."

  


	3. Soap Operas And Soap Suds 3

Okay, so I lied. :) Looks like it's going to take longer than I thought to finish this up. Thanks for the comments.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Aaron Sorkin et. al. I'm not making any money off of them. 

Rating: PG-13 

Summary: Josh and Donna discuss soap operas and more. 

Archive: If you want, sure. Just let me know.  Feedback: Please. :)

Soap Operas and Soap Suds (3/?)

Donna was stretched out on Josh's bed, her eyes half-closed, drowsily listening to his diatribe against soap operas. It was actually quite soothing in a way. If you didn't listen to the words, but just the modulations of his voice, it was just like a, like a, hmm, what was it? Like a rolling wave of sound. Up and Down. Soap operas this. Characters that. The dull roar of the ocean or the hum of a crowd.

On the edge of consciousness, Donna chortled. Wouldn't Josh just love it if she told him that she found his argumentative mode as soothing as a lullaby.

"Donna, are you listening?"

Well, that sharp tone just clashed terribly with the ocean.

"Donna. Donna Moss."

She managed to make a sound approximating an "Unh."

"Hey, Cinderella, are you falling asleep on me?"

Now that roused her enough to reply. She propped herself up on her elbows. "You're mixing up your fairytales, Josh," she mumbled, rolling her head from side to side to work out the crick.

"You were laughing."

Okay, that accusatory tone was definitely not soothing.

"I was laughing?" Donna sat up.

"Yes."

"And what you said wasn't funny."

"Not remotely."

"You do say some funny things sometimes, Josh."

"I said: `The clear dichotomy between good and evil in soap operas is one blatant example of the oversimplification and unrealistic vision of the world that such fantastical and escapist entertainment offers. And this naïve portrayal can lead to the undesirable result of creating within audiences expectations of real life which are inherently doomed to fail.'"

"And that's not funny."

"No."

"And I laughed."

"Well, it was more like a chortle."

"So I wasn't listening to you."

"No. And you should have been."

"Newsflash! Newsflash! I am not one of your groupies who hang onto every single word that drops from the luscious lips of Joshua Lyman." Oh, my, did those words actually escape her mouth? Luscious lips of Joshua Lyman. Say that three times quickly.

"Okay, that `Newsflash, Newsflash,' thing is almost as annoying as `Phone message, Phone message.'"

Maybe he overlooked the lips comment.

"And `luscious lips of Joshua Lyman'?"

No such luck.

"Nice alliteration there, Donna." There was a perceptible smirk in his voice.

"You know what I'm saying."

"You're saying that you weren't being a good listener."

"So I wasn't listening," she expostulated, standing up to give her words effect even though he wasn't there to see her. "You know, something, Josh. I do a lot for you. I keep you organized at work, I run your errands, I put up with all of your moods, and it just so happens that I got a little tired from cleaning your apartment. Which I think is above and beyond the call of duty of an assistant. And by the way, I do not necessarily appreciate you making fun of my verbal peculiarities. I happen to have a very distinctive way of speaking."

He didn't answer for a moment, and when he did his voice was quiet. "You do keep me organized and put up with me. You also keep me from going to pieces, you look out for my needs, and you protect me. It was thoughtless not realize how tired you must be right now. Forgive me, Donnatella."

The man was undeniably sweet at times.

"Oh, Josh."

"I'll let you go. You should get some rest."

The apologetic note was still in his voice, but more than that, the sense of loneliness that came across the telephone line gave her pause.

What had this whole telephone call been about, anyway? Why call her out of all people? He could have called Toby or Sam or CJ. But he had taken the trouble to track her down when she wasn't at her apartment, which probably meant that he had given her at least some thought.

Maybe this was his way of letting her know, in his roundabout Josh sort of way, that he was sorry. Sorry for snapping at her yesterday. And that he truly did enjoy her conversation.

Even her verbal peculiarities.

"No, Josh. It's okay. I'm just taking a break from cleaning."

"You're sure." The hope that crept into his voice would have been enough to make up her mind even if she had been too tired.

"I'm sure."

"Okay."

*****

Maybe he hadn't completely alienated Donna by being an asshole.

"So," Donna prompted.

"So. The dichotomy between good and evil."

"Right."

"It's clear cut in soap operas. Have you ever noticed it?"

"No. I can't say that I have."

Okay, she could still be a little mad at him. "Well, just look at that show with the stupid name."

"Ignoring the fact that most soap operas have pretty silly names, Josh, and taking into consideration your limited exposure to soap operas, I am arriving at the clever deduction that you mean A World Apart."

Well, at least that response had included words of more than one syllable.

"Yes," he replied enthusiastically, "And the lawyer with the girly name."

"Blaine."

Did it sound like she was smiling? Maybe a little.

"Right. Blaine. Well, Blaine's evil twin brother has to be the most ludicrous caricature I have ever seen."

"And how did you decide that?"

"The man swindled the entire town out of millions of dollars, seduced numerous women, bricked his brother into a niche in the wall in a direct rip off from The Cask of Amontillado, ruthlessly disposed of various people who got in his way, bombed the local restaurant, released some mysterious disease into the water supply of the local hospital, faked his own death, framed an innocent woman for all of his crimes, and laughed while he was doing it."

"You got all that from one episode today?"

"They were recapping his criminal history."

"And from him you have decided that the…"

"Dichotomy between good and evil is too clear cut on soap operas."

"Right."

"I'm saying that the character is unbelievable as he is written."

"Because the-"

"Yes," Josh interrupted, starting to warm to his subject, "The character is completely evil and thus loses any credibility.

Everyone hates him, Donna. He has no saving graces. He shows no remorse for his crimes. There seems to be no motivation for his acts except a senseless desire to create havoc."

"And this bothers you."

"Yes."

"You are bothered by the dichotomy between good and evil on soap operas."

"Yes."

"A soap opera bothers you."

"I think we have sufficiently covered this question, Donna."

"You over think things sometimes, Josh."

A nurse appeared in the doorway carrying a tray with his dinner. He motioned her to put it down and leave. Fortunately, it appeared that she was new and not as immune to the Lyman glare as most of the hospital staff because she put it on the table next to the bed and scurried out of the room without admonishing him to eat it all. Josh lifted the lid and eyed the steamed green beans on the side with distaste.

"Maybe I do. But maybe it's something that should be thought about.

"This is a medium that reaches into the households of millions of Americans every day, Donna. And they are presenting this fundamentally skewed version of the world.

"They create these one-dimensional criminals, these monsters, whom everyone can point to and say, `Yes. There is something wrong with this human being. He has no feelings, no emotions. His sole purpose is to commit terrible acts.' They paint a world in which you can completely detest the bad buys because they're not human. They're not like normal people. The soap villain is in a category completely by himself. It's as if he's his own species.

"And the thing is…" His voice dropped, "The thing is, that's not how it is in real life."

*****

Donna's heart contracted painfully. She wished that she could look Josh in the face at that moment; to take his hands in hers, but it was impossible without breaking the tenuous connection between them created by the phone line. And she knew instinctively that this connection had suddenly become a lifeline, tying her to him.

"It's not clear cut in real life," she said, her voice small.

"No."

"Okay." She didn't know what else to say to him.

"The truth is, evil acts aren't committed by monsters."

Oh, Josh. Please say that you aren't thinking about the people who shot you.

"Take the people who shot at us," he continued.

"No, Josh," she said, "Don't take them. They are monsters."

"Are they, Donna?" The calmness in his voice troubled her.

"Yes. They shot the President, they shot you. They wanted to kill Charlie."

"Consider this: they are someone's sons, someone's grandsons, someone's friends. I don't think everyone thinks of them as evil."

"And their friends and relatives are probably as horrible as they are!"

"Donna," his voice still had that terrible calm, "It might be easier to think that there is something intrinsically wrong with them. But… they can't think of themselves as being horrible. On the contrary, they think that they are doing good works. That they are right."

"But they're wrong!"

"You and I feel that. Most people do. They don't."

"Because all they know is hatred."

"But that's what I wonder, Donna. I wonder," he continued, "how people can be surrounded by hatred to such an extent that they are inured to it. They are so filled with hate, so assured of their own righteousness, that they can go to their knowing deaths, thinking that they are dying for a cause. And that cause was to kill a man for the color of his skin. They thought it was some great cause to kill this man for loving someone with different colored skin. I'm trying to understand. I should be able to understand. How is that possible? How can such people exist?"

Tears sprang to her eyes. Don't, Josh. Don't try to understand them. Don't try to go into their minds.

"Because they are stupid, and they are ignorant, and they are afraid," she said fiercely, "And despite what you say, I think that they are evil. They almost killed you. They almost took you away from us."

*****

The distress in her voice saddened Josh. He was upsetting Donna. He hadn't intended to, but these thoughts had been consuming him, and he found himself unable to change the subject.

"Okay, Donna, say it's true. They are ignorant, and they are stupid. But they are not evil. And it would be wrong for us to say that they are. These acts were committed by ordinary people. People who get up in the morning and have breakfast. They go to work, they talk to their friends, they come home at night, just like you and me. And somewhere in between, sometime after breakfast or after work or while they are talking to their friends, they find this capacity for hatred."

She didn't answer him for a moment, and he wondered if he had completely shocked or repulsed her with the ideas that had been running through his mind.

When she did speak, her voice was soft and trembling with emotion. "No Josh. Not like you and me. Okay, so maybe they aren't evil. Maybe it is just ignorance alone. But the thing is… they could never do this. What we're doing."

Her voice was gentle, and it broke something inside him. A coldness that he was trying to hold within himself. This understanding that he had been trying to achieve to banish the threatening wave of darkness that he felt welling inside. Her words were a healing balm, seeking to break through his barriers, to soothe the ache of wounds that the doctors did not treat.

"They could never try to imagine that there is any viewpoint other than their own. They could never admit that the people they hate are anything other than sub-human," she said. "And, Josh…"

"Yes." He suddenly felt like some of the weight that had pressed down on him ever since he had been told about the shooters had been lifted, as if Donnatella, with her slender shoulders and hidden strength, had slipped to his side to shoulder his burden.

"It's okay to be angry."

"What?"

"You're not like them, Josh…"

How was it that this woman could know him so well? That over the course of a few years, she, above all others, could understand his secret fear. Could see through his pretense of calm rationality. Could see the fear that when he was alone at night and dreamt of finding the shooters and shouting at them and hitting them and asking, "Why?", the fear that his anger made him no better than they were.

"…You're not like them if you feel anger and hatred right now. What they did was terrible. Yes, maybe it's true that they aren't monsters. Maybe they're just very sad people, and we should pity them. But you're doing too much, expecting too much of yourself… Like you always do…"

He had to give a tiny smile at that.

"…if you're trying to understand them right now. It's… It's okay to be angry," she repeated.

Josh looked up from the bed cover, which he had been contemplating for a number of minutes, and somehow he wasn't surprised to find that the first thing that caught his eye was a small picture set among the numerous flowers and gifts that had been sent to him. It was a detail taken from Monet's murals of water lilies. The white of the flower was set against a dark background of leaf and water.

It had been a present from Donna.

She had told him that he needed something pretty to brighten up the room. A flower that wouldn't fade and droop and die like the cut bouquets that other people had brought.

Maybe this was nothing more than a random leap of thought, but to Josh's mind sprang the story of the water lily, a story long ago learned and forgotten among the other bits of knowledge. The lily is the sign of purity. Not for its color, but from the fact that it arises through the muck and scum of the pond to open up on the surface, above all of the grime and murky water, clean and untouched.

And to Josh, it seemed like it must also be a symbol of hope, a sign that even amidst hatred and anger in the world, something good could still, always, possibly arise.

Donna didn't know, couldn't know, God, he hoped she would never know, the complete extent of what he had been feeling. But knowing that she wanted to help him, that she was trying to ease his pain, touched him in some immeasurable way.

"Thank you," he breathed.

"Mr. Lyman." The deep voice, with the scolding tone, startled Josh. The football player nurse was suddenly at his bedside, and Josh was annoyed. Annoyed that this stranger was disrupting his conversation with Donna. Annoyed that he wasn't going to be as easily intimidated by the Lyman glare as the timid young nurse from before.

"Mr. Lyman, you haven't eaten your dinner. You have to eat your dinner if you want to get your strength back."

"I'll eat it, all right," Josh protested, "if you stop treating me like a baby."

"Okay, okay," the man replied with a grin, backing off, "But I'm going to be checking the garbage can when I come back."

"Josh." Concerned-Donna was apparently back in full force. "I've been keeping you too long. You should hang up and go eat."

"No," he said, "I can still talk and eat at the same time."

The smile had returned to her voice. "I think you can talk and do anything at the same time. You just like talking."

It occurred to him… "You haven't eaten yet," he exclaimed.

"No. I thought maybe I would raid your freezer."

"Why don't you-" He hesitated. "Could you come here? Keep me company while I eat this horrible food?"

"Won't I be bothering you? Too much Donna Moss for one day?"

He hoped that she wasn't thinking about what he had said yesterday. "How can anyone have too much Donna Moss?" Josh remembered his earlier thought that he was addicted to her. Well, at least it was a good addiction. "And hey, maybe you could smuggle in a hamburger."

"Josh."

Oh, that wonderful way of saying whole sentences by only saying his name was back again. This time it was saying, "Josh, don't be such an idiot."

"Really, Donna. I just…" It shouldn't be this hard for him to admit it. "I would appreciate your company."

"Okay," she said softly.

"Okay?"

"I'll be right over."

There was a click, and Josh was holding the receiver until the beeping of the phone disrupted his reverie. She would be right over. A smile lit up his features as he placed the receiver back in its cradle.


	4. Soap Operas And Soap Suds 4

Soap Operas and Soap Suds Part 4

When Josh woke up the morning after his surgery, Donna had been relieved.  He had regained consciousness earlier, but she had spent the following hours of the night with her imagination running wild in fear.

Upon seeing her face creased from worry, Josh had chuckled, albeit weakly, and told her that she wasn't going to get a new boss that easily.  Her plaintive, " _Josh_ ," just made his grin even broader.

She could almost think he was the same old Josh.

Oh, there were moments, in following days, when she would find herself prattling on before she realized that he wasn't listening.  She would see him become quiet, watch him as he stared out the window or at his hands.  He would catch her eyes resting on him, and he would smile, quickly turning the conversation to another subject.

As time passed there were more silences, and he became more irritable.  There was something that he wasn't sharing with her, and the not knowing worried her.

Although _not_ because she was controlling, despite what Josh might say.

Then came the call today.  It had been... reassuring.  After Josh had pushed her away the day before, the call seemed like an acknowledgment of the fact that he missed her.

Their normal manner of talking had reasserted itself. It was a sweet and funny mixture of little observations, friendly jibes, and unspoken messages that was all their own.

They had been discussing soap operas, of all things, when the conversation took a turn.

What had struck her first was the coolness of his words.  Maybe she should have been glad that he was being so rational, keeping his head.  But in some sense she felt that anger would be more understandable.  For this man who was so passionate about what he believed in, the quiescence was disturbing.

She was troubled listening to him try to rationalize, to place into context, the actions of the shooters.  He had made a comment, saying that the shooters were ordinary people who somehow, between breakfast and dinner, found the capacity to hate within themselves such that they could kill.  And she thought perhaps that just beneath the surface of this tight control was rage, anger that he was trying to deny.  She tried to reach him, in that cold isolation to which he had withdrawn, and he seemed to respond.

So when the night nurse at the desk, one that Donna hadn't seen before (which was strange since she had befriended most of the staff on Josh's wing in the time she had spent haunting the hospital) told her that visiting hours were over, and unless Donna was Josh's wife, mother, or daughter, she couldn't see him, Donna wasn't about to take that crap.  Turning on the charm, she listed all the reasons why the hospital made an exception for her.

"So you see, and this is kind of funny in a way, well, not funny as in `Ha ha' funny, but rather more like a not very obvious but roundabout manner, I really am his family," Donna concluded.

The nurse was not impressed.

"Look, lady-" Donna began, switching into impatient, take-no-refusal mode.

"Donna?"

She turned to see the nurse whom Josh had said looked like a football player.  At the time, Donna had commented that he was just bitter because Jerome didn't have a crush on him as a vast majority of the female hospital staff did.

"Oh, hi, Jerome," she said.

"Are you here to see Mr. Lyman?"

"Yes. How is he?"  She glanced triumphantly back at the night nurse, who was frowning disapprovingly, as Jerome started to lead her back toward Josh's room.

"He didn't eat his dinner."

*****

Josh reluctantly, and with much grumbling, ate his hospital food, steamed string beans and all, under the watchful eyes of Donna.  As a reward, she let him eat a few of her French fries.

They were sitting in a companionable silence, the low sound of the television murmuring in the background.  He looked up and smiled at her every so often when he caught her with that crease between her eyes.  She was still worried about him, he knew.

A part of him wanted to talk, but there was still a lingering fear, a need to keep her from the taint of his own festering wounds.  And so he buried it beneath a smile and diverted her attention.

"Are you going to eat the rest of this?"  He reached for the half of her Filet-o-Fish that she still had on the desk.  (It was the fastest thing she could think of to grab on the way to the hospital, she had said, when he bugged her about going to McDonald's.)

"Yes." She quickly snatched it out of his grasp.

His eyes danced, and he put his hands up in surrender.  "Okay, far be it from me to deprive a woman of food."

"You ate some of my fries," she pointed out.

This was good.  He just needed to reassure her that she didn't need to worry.

"Oh look it's your favorite show," he said, gesturing up at the television.

It was still on the soap opera channel, and yet again it was showing an episode of A World Apart.

Donna swatted him on the arm.  "Just because I watched it in college."  She reached over him to grab the remote, and for a second he breathed in the scent of her hair.  "Why don't you change the channel?"

"Hmm?"  He was distracted for a second.  "Oh, it doesn't-"

"Work?"  The channel changed as she pressed the buttons.

Of course it would work for her.  "I warmed it up for you."

"Whatever."

"Hey, wait. Go back."

Her eyebrow rose skeptically.  "Are you voluntarily asking to watch more soaps?"

"Will you just-"

"Okay, okay."  She changed the channel back.  "Oh, look, it's your favorite couple."  She mimicked his words.

"Well, see now," Josh pointed at the characters on the screen, "that's one of the things that bothers me about them.  What is his relationship to her?  I mean, he's dating that other girl, he works with this woman in a strictly professional capacity, and she's always contradicting him.  Doesn't he find it annoying?"

"Josh."

"I'm just asking."

"Obviously he's in love with her.  Just look at the way he watches her.  The way his eyes follow her when he leaves the room."

It almost made him laugh, although he would never tell her for fear of his life, that she could get so animated discussing subjects from the budget surplus to soap operas.

"Hey, isn't that considered stalking in some states?"

"Stalking."  She had that expression on her face with her forehead furrowed and slim eyebrows drawn together, her upper lip drawn back slightly in disbelief.

"Yes."

"Because he watches her."

"Yes."

Another roll of the eyes.  "You, Joshua Lyman, are utterly devoid of romance."

Her exasperation made him grin.  "So he's not a stalker."

"Definitely not a stalker."

Secretly, Josh agreed.  The character was completely besotted.  It was evident from every look, every touch, every element of body language, that he could not exist without her.

"Hey, you two."  Jerome stood in the doorway.  "You're still up."

Donna glanced down at her watch, only then realizing the time.  An apologetic expression came over her face.

His smile was easy-going and understanding as he turned to leave the room.  "No problem.  Just make sure this guy gets his rest."

She switched the television off and placed the remote on the desk.  "Maybe I should go?"  Her eyes looked questioningly at Josh.

He reached a hand out.  "Could you-"  The words caught in his throat.  "Could you stay a little longer?"  Internally, he winced at the pleading tone in his own voice.

Her eyes searched his with such sincerity that he had to glance away.  "Okay."  She took his hand and moved her chair closer to the bed.  With her other hand, she turned off the small light on the desk.

The darkness blinded him momentarily as his eyes tried to adjust. In the silence, he imagined that he could almost hear his own heart beating.  It was going to be okay.  He was alive in this moment, and she was here beside him.

"Josh?"  Her voice was soft.

"Yeah."

"I think maybe-"  She stopped.

"Yeah?"

"I think she's in love with him too."

His lips curved into a hidden smile.

*****

Epilogue:

It is the same dream every time.

I stand face to face with one of the shooters.  I interrogate him, asking him why he did it.  I ask him how he can hate so much.  I start out completely calm.  Despite what Donna might say, it is possible for me to be cool in confrontation.

He has this smirk on his face, this sneer of self-satisfaction.  And he doesn't say a word.

I tell him that maybe he had hard childhood.  Probably his parents were racist bastards who had brainwashed him until he couldn't think for himself.

But all he does is smile.

I keep telling him that doesn't have to be consumed by hatred, that he must be capable of rational thought, that there must be a shred of human compassion within him, a hint of decency, if he just listened to what I was saying, if he only saw with clear eyes, if he would just stop being so goddamned ignorant.

And still he smiles.

I start yelling, getting in his face, shouting and cursing at him, shaking my fists, anything to get a reaction.

And still he smiles.

My hands are suddenly around his throat, throttling him, squeezing the life out of him, trying to squeeze that damn smile off of his smug face.

At that moment I am jerked into consciousness.

I awake, sweating and breathing hard, my chest burning with pain.  I blink my eyes to clear them of the lingering dream vision.

The hospital room is dim.  There is just enough light for me to make out Donna's still form, her head resting near my side, her face turned toward me, her cheek pillowed on her elbow.  Her other hand is still clasped in mine.

The faint light in the room reflects off her hair, silvering it in rather appropriate imagery.  She will probably get a crick in her neck from sleeping in that position, but I'm too damn selfish to wake her and tell her to go.  I reach my free hand to touch her hair, when the memory of my dream stops me.

I look down at her hand in mine.  Its slender fingers, its pale (alabaster I should say) skin, its delicate fingernails.  And there is mine, that moments ago was wrapped around the throat of another man, even if it was only in dream.  A wave of revulsion sweeps over me.  How can I hold her hand in mine?

I try to let go, but at the movement, her fingers tighten unconsciously.  Unless I want to pry her fingers loose one by one, it looks like she is going to hang on.

Oh, Donnatella, you are a stubborn, stubborn woman.

I place our hands back where they were before, and I swear she's smiling a little.  "Okay, you win," I whisper.  "For now."  I lift a strand of hair from her cheek and tuck it behind her ear.

For now, for tonight, maybe Donna can be my talisman against the nightmare, my protector against myself.  I close my eyes and hope to God that I don't dream.


End file.
